


Joining the Ancient Dead

by ShadowEtienne



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Gondorian History, The Dead Marshes, Wainriders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowEtienne/pseuds/ShadowEtienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1944 S.A. Gondor was attacked a second time by the Wainriders from the far East.  </p>
<p>"In 1944 King Ondoher and both his sons, Artamir and Faramir, fell in battle north of the Morannon, and the Enemy poured into Ithilen.  But Earnil, captain of the Southern Army, won a great victory in South Ithilien and destroyed the army of Harad that had crossed the River Poros.  Hastening North, he gathered to him all that he could of the retreating Northern Army and came up against the main camp of the Wainriders, while they were feasting and reveling, believing that Gondor was overthrown and but nothing remained but to take the spoil.  Earnil stormed the camp and set fire to the wains, and drove the Enemy in a great rout out of Ithilien.  A great part of those who fled before him perished in the Dead Marshes" (The Return of the King, Appendix A, pg. 370-371).</p>
<p>The Wainriders who fled from the rout experienced the terror of the Dead Marshes, and few escaped alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joining the Ancient Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be an entry for Terrifying Tolkien Week, but due to computer death, it did not get written in time to be posted. I ended up writing it during NaNo, and have finally gotten around to editing and posting it.

The Chariot Captains had declared a great feast, for their great foe, the fearsome Numenorean warriors of Gondor, were at last wiped out.  They had traveled far at the behest of the Bearer of Gifts, with fine horses and great chariots, to wage war upon the once great kingdom, but it had been weakened by previous wars, and under their onslaught, the kingdom of their enemy had fallen in the fair woods and great plains.

The fires roared high, and there was much feasting, for the land was rich with game and fruits.  Even the lowest of the foot soldiers, not great enough in rank to do more than tend horses, never to actually ride in the fast chariots or great wains that had carried them far Westwards, had much to feast upon.

All through the night, the celebrations went on, with much shouting, and dancing, and reveling.  None had been placed on watch, for there was no trace visible of their Enemy.  They soon expected to be joined by their Southern counterparts, also friends of the Bearer of Gifts, sent to attack the Kingdom of Gondor at the same time as them, for with the support of the Bringer of Gifts, they had no chance of losing.

 

When the festivities had begun to quiet a bit, for the Eastern peoples were becoming tired after weeks of fighting,  there were sudden shouts from the southern end of the camp.  All at once, the camp was lit up with great jets of fire, not from the festivities, but from the stores catching flame.  Soon, their sleeping tents leaped into flame as well, and all of the Men of the army were scrambling for whatever weapon came to hand.

Before they quite knew what was happening, shouts were ringing out from all around them, accompanying the beginnings of an unexpected battle.  Steel rang against steel, and all across the great clearing while the Eastern forces scrambled for something to defend themselves with, Men of Gondor leaped from the trees.  There were shouts of pain and orders, and the Riders of the Chariots began to realize that they were caught unprepared for the true strength of Gondor, which had come up from the south.

Those who still had their wits about them ran for their horses and chariots, and while the horses were being saddled and harnessed, the troops who could did their best to hold the space around the horse pen that they had hastily tossed together.

 

It was a much decimated force that rode forth, mostly on horseback as it was quicker, but some of the Chariots of the highest rank and with the richest origin and ornamentation had been secured to horses.  The swept northwards to the great, wet, open planes, which the Bringer of Gifts had not recommended as their path.

The frightened young soldiers followed one of their commanders to the very edges of the marsh, staring at the great gray expanse with wary eyes.  At last, a few of the younger, more keen for action of the foot soldiers were sent forward to investigate the way through the swamp.

Before the forces of Gondor reached them, they pushed forward as if they had found a safe passage, but many of them faltered as they began to enter the swamp, mud pooleing around their feet, and strange bugs swirling about them.

At first they moved slowly through the swamp, but they all knew that as long as they continued to push forward, they would eventually reach an end.  The swamp, while large, had not been endless, and they had ridden past it to enter into the lands of their enemies.

 

As the light of the sun began to dim, they were still only a quarter of the way across the swamp as riders had been forced to dismount their horses on the swampy ground, and the chariot riders were forced to walk.  Some of them began to see the apparitions then.  Small pale wisps, with bright cores, would pop into existence, just a bit farther down the pathway that they were following.

One of the younger riders said excitedly, "They're showing us the way!  We must carry on towards the East and home, or the men of Gondor would fall upon us at the soonest opportunity."

There was muttering among the captains about whether it was safe to travel through such a place with such a large group.

 

Before they could travel much farther, they heard great shouts behind them, and they knew that the first patrol had been found.  They plowed forward then, chasing after the lights that led them for a bit, further into the swamps that covered the ancient field.

One of the youngest riders tripped in fell as his horse reared in terror, pulling her reigns from his grasp and darting away with the whites of her eyes showing.  Being a sure footed beast, the horse ran back the way that they had come, riderless, never to be seen again by the remains of the forces that had fled into the swamp.

The fallen rider stared down into the waters of the swamp, where they pooled about the pathway, more visible here than they had been in many parts of the swamp.  It seemed to him as though there were beings in the bottom of the pond, reaching and reaching for him.  He took a step, nearly heading the call of strange voices swelling distantly.

He started back from the pond with a jerking motion and said, just loud enough for the part of his company nearest to him to say, "The dead are in those pools."

The Captains hushed him, and they traveled on, but he walked beside those without the privilege of a horse.  Soon afterwards,  clusters of the strange ghostly lights that had seemed before to help them onward through the appeared.  These had gathered together, and they fluttered about the gathered Men and Captains fo the Chariot Riders of the East, as though trying to lead them in all directions at once.  The young rider who had seen the dead before froze, not sure of what to do and knowing that there was something to be feared from these creatures.  However, he knew that there was nothing that he could do without waiting for his people to begin to see too that there were dangers more than they had believed in this swamp, and there was little time as suddenly they wandered off in  all directions, leading their restless horses, as if compelled by the ghostly lights.

The young rider followed one of his friends, hoping that he might be able to intervene if there was a moment before his friend fell into the swamp.  His friend walked forward as if in a daze, and when his prized and loved horse reared and spun, ripping itself free from his grasp and galloping towards the South from whence they had come, his friend did not even try to run after the horse.  The young rider knew that there was something wrong, but when he called out to his friend, there was no response.

Before long, the ghostly light came to a long, deep pool, and when his friend waded and then fell forward into the pool, the young rider leaped forward into action, barely catching him before he sank to the bottom, into the welcoming arms of the dead, and pulling him free of the water by his belt.

He held his friend in his arms, rocking him and pounding him on the back when he began to cough up water.  Then his friend began to shake and say over and over, "My friend, my friend, the dead were watching me, reaching for me."

The young rider held his friend, just sitting there, until the shaking passed, and then he helped his friend to his feet.  He said, "I do not know the way out, but I think that we can find it if we continue on, and do not follow the ghost lights."

His friend nodded, following him and grasping at his hand.  For a long time, there was silence between them, but then, at length, his friend began to talk, "There were so many bodies below.  Great warriors and kings, of Men, but also of Elves, were lying on the murky bottom.  They stared up at me, calling, calling me to defend their land against a Dark Lord.  They reached for me with their ghostly hands, too real by far under the water, but then you pulled me out.  How did you know?  Where are the others?"

The young rider began to cry then, large tears running one by one, silently down his face.  He said, "They all followed the ghostly lights, and I fear that they may have all fallen to their deaths, to join the ancient dead beneath the swamp, for I believe that this must have been a great battlefield of old."

His friend nodded and they trudged on, horseless, through mud and bugs and sharp grasses that lined the safe places to walk.  It seemed like endless minutes, hours, days that they traveled through the gray swamp, but at last, followed by the haunting sounds of the air moving in scratching breaths through the reeds, they found the margin of the swamp.

When at last they stumbled onto dry ground, the young rider and his friend fell to their knees sobbing and pressing their hands against the hummocks of grass.  There was no one to be seen, no others who had made their way free of the touch of the dead in the water, but at least they had made it.   They knew that the Bringer of Gifts would be disappointed in their failure, but they knew no other choice than to begin the long, lonely walk towards home, far to the East, following the great length of the Ered Lithui to the plains south of the Sea of Rhun.  Perhaps at home, there would be safety, though the faces of the dead, and their friends and fellow soldiers who had never left the marshes, would haunt them forever.

 


End file.
